


for far too long, i let you hurt

by lalaland666 (orphan_account)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (i can’t not give them a happy ending), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Kinda, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), no betas we fall like angels here, screaming the whole way down, theyre both so protective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 13:29:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21180224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/lalaland666
Summary: Heaven seems to think they’ve figured out how Crowley and Aziraphale survived their trials. In dealing with this, both end up uncovering things they’d thought they’d long since buried.





	1. The Start of It All

**Author's Note:**

> This was gonna be a fake relationship story, but that sorta didn’t pan out. Instead, have some trauma angst!!
> 
> As a note: I’ve never read the book, so this is all based on the TV series. If I’m missing things that were mentioned in the book, that’s why. There are also a lot of my personal headcanons in here, especially wrt Hell, so again, sorry if they contradict anything. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy!!!

The Principality Aziraphale was tidying. 

Or, well, the Principality Aziraphale was doing his very best to tidy while a very lanky, very languid, and ever-so-slightly drunk demon was lounging about in his shop and very nearly disturbing all of the carefully-balanced, artfully-dust-covered books filling the front room. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale yelped, using the business end of his broom to shove the demon away from another one of his precipitous floor-to-ceiling book stacks. “You’ll knock them all over!” 

“I don’t know why you don’t just put them up on shelves,” said Crowley, turning to lean up against one of the aforementioned shelves instead. “You’ve got plenty of space, and it’s not like you can’t get more.” 

“I know, but if the books are all over the place, and if there’s just enough dust on them, it makes them look rather less inviting to customers,” fretted Aziraphale, bringing his broom back upright and worrying the handle with one of his hands. 

“Sneaky you,” said Crowley, grinning over at Aziraphale. “I knew you kept it dusty on purpose.” 

“It’s not like I like living in dirt,” Aziraphale muttered. 

“No,” said Crowley, letting the wineglass in his hand sway slightly, and had it been even a millimeter fuller Aziraphale would have scolded him. As it was, there was no point. “I suppose you wouldn’t. Heaven is so... bare. Clean. Makes my place look like a dump.” 

Aziraphale paused, several different responses to that swirling around on his tongue, before he finally settled on, “Well. Sparse isn’t what I would want. Clean, yes, but not sparse.” 

Crowley grinned, half-swaying and half-staggering his way over to the chair at Aziraphale’s little desk before plopping himself down into it. His limbs were far too long for the small seat, and he seemed to dangle out of it, barely supported. Aziraphale ignored him, choosing to go back to browsing through his piles to carefully rearrange things as nonsensically as he could manage. The new additions by Adam were proving to be a particular challenge to pace appropriately, but Aziraphale could hardly stand to get rid of them, no matter how many times Crowley had said he ought to. 

Crowley. 

He and Aziraphale had fallen into a rhythm after the failed Apocalypse. Every day, Crowley would come over at roundabout noon, and they’d go out to lunch. They’d walk in some park or another, then head back to the bookshop, where Aziraphale would pretend to work until Crowley finally succeeded in drawing his attention away completely, and then they’d talk and talk until around midnight, at which point Crowley would drive back over to his flat, and leave Aziraphale alone. 

Aziraphale didn’t mind being alone– as a matter of fact, much of the time, he greatly preferred it to being around other people. But being without Crowley… that was a different question. One he rather knew his answer to, each and every time Crowley sped off far too fast in his Bentley. It was an answer Aziraphale never could work up the nerve to say out loud. After all, Crowley had always been the bold one. 

All the things left unsaid were pressing down on Aziraphale like a physical weight, threatening to push him into the ground. But still, he smiled over at Crowley as the demon drank down the last sip of his wine and set the glass on Aziraphale’s cluttered little desk, right beside a mug of cooling cocoa that Aziraphale had been meaning to drink before Crowley had insisted on something stronger. 

The demon was still smiling, Aziraphale noted, as he attempted to busy himself again with the broom. Smiling that soft, faint, wonderfully happy smile that Aziraphale normally only caught out of the corner of his eye. If the demon knew he was looking, the smile would vanish, quickly enough that it always seemed to be a trick of the light. But Aziraphale knew better. 

Or, rather, he hoped he did. 

The weight settled on him again, heavy, positively oppressive, and Aziraphale looked fully away, turning his back, resuming his bustling as best he could. 

Crowley’s voice sounded. “Oh, dear. Looks like I’ve poured a second glass. I couldn’t possibly drink the both at once. Pity this one will have to go to waste.” 

Aziraphale sighed, fighting back the small smile spreading across his face and turning it into an eye roll as he leaned his broom up against a shelf and turned to face the demon. “Fine. You win.” 

Crowley arched an eyebrow, still sprawled nonchalantly atop Aziraphale’s chair, now with a glass of wine balanced in either hand. “Win? What, were we playing a game?” 

“You tempter,” said Aziraphale, plucking the wine from his demon’s grip, this time utterly failing to conceal a grin. 

“Damn right I am,” said Crowley, another one of those genuine smiles playing across his lips, just for a split second, before it was gone. 

Aziraphale remembered suddenly why he so liked to get Crowley to drink. The demon was so much more expressive this way. 

“Right,” said Aziraphale with a small, happy sigh. “If I am giving up on working, we might as well move to the back room.” 

A voice sounded, sudden and painfully familiar, sending a shiver of fear straight down Aziraphale’s spine at the sound. “Ah, ah, before you do, I’d like a word.” 

Aziraphale froze, his hand clenching around his glass, fighting to school his face into something resembling a calm expression as he turned to face the source of the voice, standing in the middle of the bookshop. “Gabriel.” 

“You wanker,” hissed Crowley, suddenly directly beside Aziraphale. The angel wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gotten there. 

“Demon, this is a matter for Aziraphale and I to discuss. You don’t need to be here.” 

“Get out,” Crowley snarled, taking a half a step forwards, standing almost between Aziraphale and Gabriel. The angel had never seen his demon like this, so… so angry. It was honestly a little frightening. “You said you’d leave him alone.” 

“Ah. Yes. About that. We think we’ve figured it out.” Gabriel’s small, ever-present smile was there, almost imperceptibly wider than normal. 

“We?” asked Crowley. 

But Aziraphale knew, even before he turned, even before he saw them. He felt the rush of cold as they materialized in the shop. Behind Aziraphale and Crowley, opposite Gabriel, stood Sandalphon. To Aziraphale’s right, Uriel. To his left, Michael. 

He and Crowley were corned, boxed in, trapped on all sides. 

Aziraphale grabbed ahold of his fear, harnessed it, turned it into something productive, and spat out the words with as much contempt as he could manage with the panic gripping his chest. “What do you want?” 

“We want to know if our theory’s right,” said Gabriel, clasping his hands in front of him. 

“I’m afraid you’ll need to be more specific,” said Aziraphale, laying a hand on Crowley’s arm and gently, as gently as he could, pulling the alcohol out of his system. He needed his demon functional, needed him clear. He couldn’t risk losing him. Not now. Not when they were so close. 

“That,” said Gabriel, pointing. 

Aziraphale blinked, glancing behind him briefly, before looking down at his own hand, holding tight to Crowley’s arm. 

He looked back up at Gabriel, holding tighter to Crowley. He couldn’t seem to find the strength to let go. “What about it?” 

“Are you two having sex?” 

Aziraphale froze, his entire being seeming to short-circuit. 

Crowley jumped in. “That is none of your business.” 

“But I’m afraid it is,” said Michael suddenly, her voice smooth. “We can’t help but wonder how you two pulled off your little escapes. And that seems to be the only logical conclusion. We’ve known you two to had an... _unusual_ connection for some time preceding Armageddon, but it’s not something that should have caused that. At least, not the part we’d seen.” 

“Unless, of course, it was a trick,” said Uriel. 

“A clever little ruse,” drawled Sandalphon. 

Aziraphale felt Crowley’s left hand on his, squeezing onto him tightly, solidifying his grip on his arm, and Aziraphale pulled himself slightly closer, a ship anchoring in a storm. 

“And what if we are?” asked Crowley, his thumb tracing circles over Aziraphale’s knuckles. 

Aziraphale forced his expression calm, even as shock ran down his spine with each motion, even as Gabriel’s nose wrinkled with disgust. 

“So it _is_ true?” 

“Again, I fail to see how it’s any of your business,” snarled Crowley as he shifted, pulling his arm out of Aziraphale’s grip to wrap it around him, pulling him close, his other thumb still rubbing gentle circles across Aziraphale’s own. 

“Fine, you won’t answer us, we’ll just have to watch and see for ourselves,” said Gabriel, shrugging. 

Aziraphale felt his entire body go weak, and he was suddenly and immensely grateful for Crowley’s arm around him, holding him up. “You… you want us–“ 

All around him, Aziraphale heard the sounds of angels suppressing gags. 

“No,” gasped Gabriel. “No. Absolutely not. We _do not_ want to see any of… _that_. But outside of here–“ he spread his arms, indicating the bookshop– “whenever you’re out there, we’ll be watching. And if we at all suspect it might have been a trick…” 

“We’ll be back to collect,” said Sandalphon. 

Then they were gone. 

Aziraphale was still frozen, fear still coursing through his body with every beat of his racing heart, still clinging to Crowley desperately. 

The demon pulled him closer, pulling the wine out of Aziraphale’s shaking hand and teleporting it over to the desk before using that other arm to wrap around Aziraphale’s quaking form. 

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale murmured, turning to face into his demon’s chest, his breathing ragged and irregular. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not you who should be sorry, angel,” said Crowley, his hand rubbing soothing circles against the small of Aziraphale’s back. “I shouldn’t have let them believe it. I should’ve come up with something– _anything_ else. What good is an imagination if you don’t use it, dammit?” 

“Not your fault,” Aziraphale breathed, his voice still shaking, but he needed Crowley to know. “It’s alright. They would never have taken anything else as an answer.” 

“You alright?” muttered Crowley. 

“I will be,” said Aziraphale, finally coming to himself enough to wrap his arms around Crowley’s waist. 

Crowley froze, and Aziraphale panicked, drawing his arms away, pulling out of Crowley’s grip, practically stumbling back, feeling suddenly cold without the warmth of the demon’s arm around him. 

“Oh, Crowley,” he gasped, “I’m so sorry, forgive me, I got caught up in the moment, I didn’t mean–“ 

“You don’t have to apologize for hugging me, angel,” said Crowley, the faintest of blushes creeping up his cheeks. “Not ever.” 

Aziraphale opened his mouth to say… something. He wasn’t entirely sure what. 

Crowley beat him to the punch. “We’re gonna have to convince them, huh?” 

Aziraphale nodded. “I guess we are.” 

Crowley grimaced. “I’m sorry, angel. I should’ve thought–“ 

“Don’t apologize,” said Aziraphale, taking a half a step closer to Crowley again. 

He paused, just staring at Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale took a deep breath, steadying himself. “I could… I would never want to trap you in this. I ought to just go turn myself in to Heaven right now.” 

“You’ll do no such thing,” snarled Crowley, taking a step forwards. 

“I can’t let you get hurt,” Aziraphale breathed. “I can’t trap you here with me.” A fussy, pudgy old bookseller, a fool who knows too much and does too little, who gets too invested in stupid things. 

Who got too invested in his demon to be able to just _pretend._

“But _I_ can’t let _you_ get hurt, either,” said Crowley, his voice soft, that strange softness that he reserved for certain situations. “I couldn’t… when I thought you’d burnt in the bookshop…” He licked his lips, his voice quaking. “I couldn’t… I didn’t… I can’t let that happen again. Not if there’s anything I can do to prevent it.” 

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured, his voice soft, sad, on the verge of breaking. “I don’t want–“ 

“You’re not making me do anything I don’t want to do, angel,” said Crowley firmly. 

Aziraphale opened his mouth, then closed it again. Crowley couldn’t be saying what Aziraphale thought he was. Once, maybe, he might have said that, but that was then. That was before Aziraphale had pushed him away, again and again, in the cruelest of ways. He couldn’t still mean that, not now, not after all this time. 

“It’s settled, then,” said Crowley, picking up one of the two wineglasses on the table and making his way to the back room of the bookshop. “We’re pretending.” 

“Pretending,” Aziraphale murmured, hoping that the sound in his voice came off more determined than disappointed. How long has he wanted this? How long had he wanted exactly what Gabriel had been describing? And now, hearing the resignation in Crowley’s voice as he discussed even pretending that such a thing was happening… 

Aziraphale scooped up the other glass of wine and followed Crowley into the back room. 

They both settled down into their normal spots, Crowley sprawled on the couch and Aziraphale neatly folded on his chair, and lapsed into a complete silence. 

###

Crowley couldn’t stop staring at Aziraphale, at the way his hands wouldn’t stop shaking, at the way his eyes flitted about to every spot in the room but Crowley. 

Finally, he couldn’t take it any longer. 

“We never have to actually do it, y’know,” said Crowley. 

Aziraphale started, finally looking at him. “Sorry?” 

Crowley was already cursing himself. Why had he said that? Why had he brought it up? “We never have to do it. Not even close. They said they wouldn’t be watching us in here, they don’t wanna catch anything. It’s just… it’s just out in public that we have to act like we’re together.” He shrugged, forcing an air of calm. “They already think we are, I don’t think much would need to change.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes had stopped flitting, and were now focused on his still-shaking hands. He nodded, slowly. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, his voice shaking as much as his hands, the faintest hint of a sob threatening to emerge. 

Crowley felt his chest tighten, looking at his angel like this. “No. Don’t be sorry. We just went over all that. Don’t be sorry. We’re doing this to protect you.” 

Aziraphale sighed. “I won’t sentence you to that. I _couldn’t_, Crowley, I don’t want to hurt you anymore. Who knows how long they’ll be watching? Like I said, I ought to just go turn myself in to Heaven.” 

Crowley leapt up, grabbing his angel’s wrist in a vice grip, hearing the gasp Aziraphale let out at the contact and feeling the way his whole body tensed under Crowley’s grip and ignoring them both. “Don’t you dare. Don’t even _think_ about it, angel. I won’t let you.” 

“I don’t want–“ said Aziraphale. 

“You’re not hurting me. You could never hurt me,” said Crowley. He was lying, of course. Aziraphale was the only being capable of actually hurting him. But he couldn’t let that on. It didn’t matter how much Aziraphale hurt him, Crowley had to protect his angel. Had to save him. He couldn’t lose him again. 

“That’s not true,” said Aziraphale, finally locking eyes with Crowley, the hand not being pinned to the chair reaching up to pull Crowley’s glasses off his face. “I’ve hurt you so, so many times. And I simply couldn’t bear to do it again.” 

Crowley forced himself to maintain eye contact, to not look away. “It’s alright, angel. This won’t hurt me. I _want_ to do this. I want to protect you. Please. Let me do this.” He took a deep breath. “It would hurt me more, so, so much more, to lose you.” 

Then he cursed himself internally. That was too honest, too much, too close to the truth. He needed to _pretend_, dammit, and based on how Aziraphale was reacting, that was as far as it would get. 

It was still better, so, _so_ much better, than losing him forever. 

Aziraphale looked away, tears welling up in those beautiful, pale blue eyes, staring back down at his free hand, still clutching Crowley’s glasses. “I’m sorry, Crowley.” 

“How many times do I have to tell you, you don’t need to be sorry,” Crowley breathed, hearing the way his voice softened and hating himself for it . 

Aziraphale let out a tiny laugh. “Clearly, at least a few more.” 

Crowley felt his hand shifting, and he glanced down to see that Aziraphale was holding his hand, fingers lacing together gently. 

Crowley let out a small sound, entirely against his will, halfway between gasping and choking. 

Aziraphale drew his hand away, pulling away slightly from Crowley. “I– I’m sorry–“ 

Crowley stood up suddenly. He couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t bear to be so close. Aziraphale had _held_ his _hand_, had chosen, in _private_, without _anyone_ watching, to seek out more contact with Crowley. He couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t stand to be so close, and yet so impossibly far away. 

“Crowley, my dear, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to go too far–“ 

“Too far?” snapped Crowley, spinning on his heel to face Aziraphale again. “You think that was too far? Angel. _Aziraphale_. You could never go too far for me. I was the one who asked you to bloody run away with me, remember? I was the one who was always going too far, too fast.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I… Aziraphale… there’s _nothing_ I wouldn’t do for you. You’ll never go too far. Never too fast.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you again,” Aziraphale breathed, his voice almost inaudible. 

“You won’t.” 

“But I will!” said Aziraphale, his voice shaking. “I will, I always do, I try to protect you, to keep you safe, and I always manage hurt you, every single time. I’ve never wanted to hurt you, not once, not one time in six thousand years, but every time I even come close to telling you how much I love you, I get too scared and I make a mess of it all. It was always too dangerous, and now that it should have been safe, finally, after so long, Heaven’s gone and buggered it all up again, and now it seems like I might have been wrong after all this time.” 

Aziraphale fell silent, his chest heaving, his eyes wide and brimming with tears. 

Crowley stared at him, equal parts shock and thrill pounding in his chest in time with his racing heart. “You… _what_? You _love_ me?” 

Aziraphale nodded, one quick, small nod, like the one he’d given in 1967 when he handed over the holy water that had saved Crowley’s hide not six months ago, his mouth pressed shut and his eyes like dinner plates in his head. 

Crowley had to say something. Had to find some way to stem the tears, gathering in his angel’s now-puffy eyes again, had to find some way to make him feel better. He was a serpent, dammit, he was wily and cunning and clever and– 

“I love you, too,” Crowley blurted out. 

Then he froze, realizing suddenly what he’d said. He hadn’t meant to say it. Sure, the angel had done it, but teh angel loved everything, loved his food and his wine and his books and his humans. There was no way he could love Crowley the way Crowley loved him. He’d never meant to say it, not really, not like that, not in the million times he’d tried to say it in other ways, not in their six thousand years of not-quite-friendship, and he’d been close, he’d been far closer than he’d ever care to admit, but not once had he ever actually meant to say it, lest it scare his angel off again. Talk about going too fast… 

“I… I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t… I don’t–“ 

Before Crowley knew what was happening, Aziraphale was kissing him, hands bunched in his jacket and lips pressed together, and Crowley froze, his brain going blank. He’d wanted this for six thousand years, it didn’t seem real now. 

Aziraphale fell back suddenly, his hands dropping back down to his sides, his eyes going wide. “Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, I didn’t mean– how stupid of me, thinking that you’d want anything like that, from _me_ of all people, I’m sorry–“ 

Crowley lunged forwards, grabbing the front of Aziraphale’s jacket and catching his mouth with his own, drawing a small gasp out of him, and he could taste the tears on his angel’s lips as he drew him closer, one hand snaking up to tangle in the soft, pale curls, and it was chaste and strange and so, so much better than Crowley had ever imagined. 

He never wanted to pull away, but he had to. He had to say something. 

“I love you, angel,” he breathed, pressing his forehead up against Aziraphale’s his hand still tangled in those amazingly soft curls. “I love you so, so much.” 

“I love you, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered in response, and Crowley felt a shiver run up his back, entirely against his will. He’d wanted to hear those words for so, so long. For more than six thousand bloody years. 

Aziraphale was still talking. “I’ve loved you… Lord, I don’t even know how long. I was always so afraid to admit it, and after… after everything I’ve done to you…” 

“It’s alright,” said Crowley, and for the first time, it was. 

As a response, Aziraphale reached up, pulling Crowley into another kiss, and Crowley would have been perfectly happy to stay like that forever, but then Aziraphale grazed his teeth against Crowley’s bottom lip. Crowley’s breath hissed in, his lips parting, and Aziraphale took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue entering, tentatively, gently, ever so delicately starting to explore Crowley’s mouth. 

Crowley couldn’t hold himself back any longer. He responded in kind, his tongue, halfway to its snake form, sliding into Aziraphale’s mouth, and this time Aziraphale gasped, and Crowley didn’t slow down, fingers tensing in Aziraphale’s hair, and he felt a hand gently brush against his jaw, another one landing on the small of his back, pulling their bodies closer together. 

Aziraphale’s hand vanished from his cheek, but Crowley only had a moment to regret the loss before Aziraphale was tugging at his jacket, pulling it off. Crowley obliged, tossing the jacket to some far-off corner, never breaking his hold on Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale pulled back, drawing in a gasping breath. “Shall we go upstairs, love?” 

Crowley was about to say something, to growl out that he’d take his angel right here, right now, but then he saw the look in Aziraphale’s eyes, and he nodded. 

Aziraphale kissed him again, on the edge of his jaw, right where it connected to his neck, and Crowley barely managed to stifle his moan. 

Their hands threaded together, and as one, they made their way upstairs.


	2. A Little Intervention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel interrupts a perfectly lovely lunch, and Aziraphale needs a firm talking-to (or, Aziraphale and Crowley have a nice long chat about who’s more lovable).

The next morning, Aziraphale awoke to Crowley’s arms wrapped around him, head on his chest. He was still asleep, mouth slightly agape, his arm draped over Aziraphale’s stomach. 

Aziraphale couldn’t hold back his smile, and he realized with a jolt that he didn’t need to. So he reached up, running a hand through Crowley’s hair, short and tousled and so beautiful, and smiled even wider at the way Crowley shifted, pulling himself in closer. 

He couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe that Crowley, of all people, so tall and so gorgeous, would ever want _him_, his too-soft belly and his stout body and the way he was always too much, too afraid, too bubbly, too excited, too anxious, too… everything. He was a dreadful excuse for an angel, and he couldn’t imagine why Crowley would want anything to do with him. 

Crowley shifted again, his stunning amber eyes fluttering open, and Aziraphale forced the hand in Crowley’s hair to still. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said. 

“I was waking up anyways,” said Crowley, his voice thick with sleep, smiling up at Aziraphale briefly. A true, unguarded smile. 

It made Aziraphale melt inside. 

“I love you,” Aziraphale breathed. 

Crowley blinked. “Whut?” 

“I love you,” Aziraphale repeated, his voice matter-of-fact, his hand resuming its petting of Crowley’s hair. 

Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Love you too.” 

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “I suppose this is your last chance to back out. If we do this any longer, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to let you go, even if–“ 

He let out a small half-squeak as Crowley lunged up to draw him into a kiss, very effectively shutting him up. 

They stayed there for a long moment, side by side, Crowley’s arm still wrapped around Aziraphale’s middle and Aziraphale’s hand still tangled in Crowley’s hair. 

Then Crowley pulled back, propping himself up on his elbow, and growled softly. “I’m not backing out. Six thousand years I’ve waited for this, angel, you’re not gonna get rid of me so quickly. You’ve tried already, and it never worked. And now I know you want me back…” He leaned forwards again, pressing a kiss to Aziraphale’s forehead, “I’m never gonna back out.” 

Aziraphale felt that smile rising again, the one only Crowley could produce, and he let it come. “No, I suppose not.” 

Then he paused. He had to let him know, now, now that they were both awake, now that they weren’t caught up in the heat of the moment. He had to explain himself, somehow. 

Not that any explanation could ever be enough to undo the damage Aziraphale had done. 

Crowley looked down at him, eyebrow arched. “Angel?” 

“I just…” Aziraphale took a deep breath. “I was never really trying to get rid of you. Not once. I was… I was afraid. I was just afraid. Afraid of what Hell would do to you if they found out about… about any of it. Afraid of what Heaven would do to me, if they knew how I felt. It was… I thought I was keeping us safer, by pushing you away. I never… not once, not one time in six thousand years, did I ever actually want you to leave.” There were tears welling in his eyes again, and he blinked them away fiercely. 

Crowley stared at him for a moment longer, something strange hiding deep in those beautiful amber eyes, and then he leaned down again, pressing another kiss to Aziraphale’s lips, gentler this time, longer. 

Then Crowley pulled back again. “We’re safe now, angel. You don’t have to push me away, if you don’t want. Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it. If that means leaving, I’ll go, but if you’ll let me stay, I’ll stay here forever.” 

Aziraphale laughed, ever so slightly. “Didn’t you just hear me? I’ve _never_ wanted you to leave. Not then, and certainly not now.” 

Crowley grinned. “Right. It’s settled then.” 

“I suppose it is.” 

This time, they met in the middle for their kiss, Crowley’s fingers tangling in Aziraphale’s hair and Aziraphale’s hand sliding down to gently trace Crowley’s jaw. 

They stayed like that for a long, beautiful moment, before Aziraphale pulled away, smiling again. “I love you very much, and as much as I would love to have a repeat of last night, I do believe we made some reservations yesterday afternoon for a lunch at that cute little restaurant nearby, and I’d really rather not miss it.” 

Crowley frowned. “What time is it?” 

“Nearly one o’clock in the afternoon.” 

Crowley sighed, collapsing onto his back beside Aziraphale. “I’d try to convince you, but I don’t think even I outrank food.” 

Aziraphale laughed, pecking Crowley gently on the cheek before starting to climb out of bed. “Don’t be absurd, dear. You outrank absolutely everything. I just don’t want to be rude to the wait staff, they’re expecting us.” 

Crowley mumbled something unintelligible that may have contained the words “goody-two-shoes” and “angel”. 

Aziraphale couldn’t wipe the grin off his face as he got dressed and ready. 

### 

Crowley had tried his best not to drive too quickly, though– of course– it didn’t really work. They arrived at the restaurant a few minutes before their reservation time to find that, indeed, the wait staff were waiting for them. 

They sat down, Crowley pulling out Aziraphale’s chair for him as he always did, and the waiter bustled off to give them some time to look over the menu. 

Aziraphale’s left hand was resting on the table, halfway between them, while his right scanned rapidly over the various offerings. 

Crowley took a deep breath, then reached out and took his angel’s hand, lacing their fingers together. 

Aziraphale looked up at him, a smile spreading across his face. “I was wondering when you were going to do that.” 

Crowley smiled back, biting back the words on the tip of his tongue. It had seemed to make Aziraphale upset earlier, when he’d mentioned it, and that was the last thing Crowley wanted now. But the thought still ran through his head. _I was never gonna do that, angel. Not unless you told me it was okay. Every time I tried to get close, you pushed me away, and so I gave up trying, because it was safer that way. It was all in your hands, angel. It was always in your hands._

Crowley opened his mouth to say something else, to comment on the new decorations scattered about or something, when he felt a shift. 

Aziraphale’s voice sounded. “Crowley? What’s wrong?” 

Crowley sniffed the air, his grip on Aziraphale’s hand tightening. “Someone’s here.” 

“Who?” 

“Not sure. Someone from Heaven,” said Crowley. He’d felt it, too, last night at the bookshop, but by then it had already been too late to warn Aziraphale. “Don’t–“ 

“Traitors!” It was Gabriel’s voice, loud and ringing. 

Crowley jumped, his head whipping up. Gabriel was standing there, alone this time. 

“What do you want?” asked Crowley, shifting his body slightly so he was facing the archangel, his grip on Aziraphale’s hand never faltering. 

“I see you two are out again,” said Gabriel, nodding his head towards their joined hands. “Wonder how long it’ll last.” 

“I beg your pardon?” asked Aziraphale. 

“I wonder how long it’ll be before he gets bored of you,” said Gabriel, one of those awful, fake smiles spreading across his face. “You have to know you’re not gonna keep him interested for eternity, especially not looking like that.” He gestured towards Aziraphale’s middle, and Crowley felt his stomach clench as Aziraphale put an arm around his belly, eyes wide, hurt. How _dare_ he? 

Gabriel leaned in, almost conspiratorially. “If we’re right, the immunity will only last as long as you two maintain that connection. And as soon as he leaves, we’ll be there.” 

Crowley felt a growl, building in his throat, and he held up his hand, letting one finger light up with hellfire. “Leave. _Now._” 

Gabriel held his hands up, still grinning that stupid grin, and vanished with a faint _whoosh_. 

Immediately, Crowley turned to Aziraphale, scooting his chair closer. “I’m never going to leave you. Don’t let that bastard get into your head. I’m always gonna be here.” 

“I know you are, Crowley,” said Aziraphale, sighing softly. “You’ve proven that, a hundred times over. I just wish… I just wish you didn’t have to.” 

Crowley glanced around the restaurant, then snapped his fingers. The two vanished, then rematerialized in the back room of Aziraphale’s bookshop. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale gasped. 

“We decided we wanted some takeout instead of eating in, our waiter got a lovely tip for his trouble, and the table went to a very nice young couple about to celebrate their fifteenth wedding anniversary who forgot to make a reservation,” said Crowley quickly. It was all true; the takeout was even sitting in the little kitchenette upstairs. “We need to have this conversation in private.” 

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed. “I don’t deserve you.” 

“You deserve the entire bloody world, angel,” said Crowley. “It’s me who doesn’t deserve you.” 

“Crowley, no, don’t say that,” said Aziraphale, pulling his hand free of Crowley’s grip. “Look at me. I’m so… so _soft_, and weak, and I eat too much, and I get too excited about stupid little things, and I can never keep my hands still when I talk, and I really am an absolutely terrible excuse for an angel, and–“ 

Crowley decided to employ his new favourite method of getting Aziraphale to shut up and leaned forwards to kiss him, catching him mid-word, his hands grabbing onto Aziraphale’s face, holding him tight. 

His mind was racing. He knew what Heaven thought of Aziraphale, he’d seen the disdain in their eyes when he’d gone up there for Aziraphale’s failed execution. But he’d never had any idea how deeply it ran, how much they’d seemed to hurt him. It made Crowley sick to his stomach, and he hadn’t even known that was possible. As a matter of fact, it _hadn’t_ been possible up until that moment. 

After a few seconds, Crowley pulled away, just far enough to talk, his hands still framing his angel’s face. His beautiful, brilliant angel. “I love you, angel. That means _all_ of you. I love how soft you are, and that includes your body, too, don’t get it wrong, but it’s also deeper. Way deeper. I love that you never want to fight anything. I love how much you care, how you give your entire self to everything you do. I love how you can just… get _lost_, in good food, or a good book, or some really good music, and how you can talk about it nonstop for days and days afterwords if someone will let you. I love how bloody clever you are, how you know so much about every little thing, and how you love to share that knowledge whenever you get a chance. I love how fully you love things, how you love with your whole heart whenever you think you find something that’s worth it.” _Like me,_ Crowley thought. _I don’t know how I managed to convince you that I’m worth it, but I’m _never_ going to let go of that love now._ “I love _you_, exactly the way you are, and I have for six thousand years. That’s never going to change. I’m never going to get tired of you, angel. I’ll never think you’re too much, no matter what Heaven–“ he spit the word out like a curse– “has made you believe. Understand?” 

Aziraphale nodded, ever so slightly. Then he sighed. “I’m–“ 

“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry,” said Crowley. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” 

“I did make us miss our lunch.” 

“It’s upstairs. I got you your usual.” 

Aziraphale smiled, a beautiful, beaming smile. “Crowley, you’re too good to me.” 

“I’m not nearly as good as you deserve,” said Crowley. 

The smile fell off Aziraphale’s face. “Don’t say that.” 

“Say what?” 

“That you’re not good.” 

“I’m not,” said Crowley, shrugging. “I’m a demon. I’m the opposite of good.” 

“You know that’s not true.” Aziraphale’s hand has risen, and it was resting gently on top of Crowley’s. “You are good. If you weren’t, we wouldn’t be here. You are good, and kind, and nice, and all those four-letter words that you never let me say, but they’re all true, Crowley. I love you, all of you, and that includes the best parts of you, the parts you want to forget.” Aziraphale leaned forwards, pressed a gentle kiss to Crowley’s lips, then stepped away, turning to walk upstairs. “I do believe our takeout is getting cold.” 

Crowley was left, standing there, his mind reeling. He couldn’t seem to make himself believe it. He wasn’t good, wasn’t kind, wasn’t nice. If he had been, he never would have Fallen. 

Then again, none of those qualities seemed to really be a requirement up in Heaven anymore, either. 

Crowley shook himself slightly. His angel was standing at the base of the stairs, staring back at him expectantly, and so he turned, followed Aziraphale upstairs, forcing those thoughts to the back of his mind, letting Aziraphale lead the conversation elsewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so, so much for reading!!!


	3. Hell Interferes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hell finds a new way to hurt Crowley. Aziraphale won’t stand for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real quick: again, having never read the book, I personally believe that Hastur would be WAY more likely to try and get back at Crowley in some way than Beelzebub. Stop making Beelzebub do Hastur’s dirty work 2k19 lol 
> 
> So yeah. That’s the reasoning behind this chapter. Enjoy!!

The rest of the day passed much as they always did with Crowley and Aziraphale, with the notable exception of the evening’s activities, which Crowley couldn’t help but hope were being added into the routine properly now. 

Afterwards, Aziraphale had insisted on putting some pajamas on, saying that he wanted to read in bed, and Crowley kept his grumbling to a minimum. When Aziraphale came back, dressed in a tartan nightgown with a book in hand, Crowley curled up in his lap. He was tempted, just for a moment, to turn into a snake, curl himself up properly, but he wanted to wrap his arms around his angel’s waist, and Aziraphale had already started petting his hair, and neither of those things were possible in snake form. 

Listening to the soft rustling of pages turning, feeling the way Aziraphale’s fingers combed through his hair, Crowley felt himself drifting off to sleep. 

He woke back up a minute or two later to a familiar smell. Brimstone. Smoke. Fire. 

Hellfire. 

Crowley sat bolt upright, clutching the sheets, his eyes flying open to stare around, searching for Aziraphale. He wasn’t there. He wasn’t in bed. 

Where had he gone? 

“Aziraphale!” Crowley leapt up, sprinted downstairs. “Angel, where–“ 

There. In the front room of the bookshop. Crowley could sense Aziraphale’s light, flickering and faint, far fainter than it should’ve been, but there nonetheless. 

That was where the smell was strongest. 

Crowley growled, bursting into the room, to find Aziraphale, standing in the centre of the room, his eyes wide, his face panicked, on his knees, surrounded by flames. 

Surrounded by demons. 

Hastur was there, and Dagon, standing just behind Aziraphale, and two copies of Disposable were holding his arms fast, forcing him down to the ground. Crowley could see the chains on his wrists, inscribed with runes. The same chains Hell used on Crowley, sometimes, when enacting punishments. They were negating Aziraphale’s powers. Crowley hadn’t thought they would even _work_ on an angel. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale yelled, catching sight of the demon, and Dagon smacked him across the face, prompting a gasp of pain, a gasp that seemed to shoot straight into Crowley’s chest and lodge in his heart. 

Crowley froze, reaching out with his mind, doing his best to fight back the fires growing ever closer to Aziraphale. 

“Let. Him. Go,” he snarled, locking eyes with Hastur. 

“I don’t think so,” said Hastur, grinning. “I think I found a punishment more fitting than holy water. This one really fits your crimes, Crowley.” 

“Don’t hurt him,” Crowley said, his voice half-snarling, half-pleading, and he hated the sound of it as soon as it emerged, but he couldn’t help it, couldn’t change it, his angel was in danger and he couldn’t help, it was taking all his power just to hold back the fires enough to keep them from burning Aziraphale, and he was trapped, helpless. 

“Hm,” said Dagon, her voice absurdly joyful. “Interesting.” 

Crowley couldn’t respond. Anything he said would make it worse. At least they hadn’t killed him yet, it would be so easy to kill him, but they still thought he was immune to hellfire, and Crowley realized with a jolt that that was why they were letting him hold the flames back. It was four– well, three, really– against one right now. He could do nothing without their permission. 

Just like before. 

All he could do was stare at Aziraphale, hoping, practically _praying_ that the angel could see how sorry he was, how desperately he wanted to help. 

“I think we’ve found a new little toy,” said Hastur, licking his lips and staring down at Aziraphale. “Pretty little thing, he is. I think Hell will have fun with him.” 

“No,” said Crowley, reduced to begging, to pleading. “Don’t–“ 

Hastur, Dagon, and the Disposables all snapped, and they were gone, and the entire bookshop was engulfed once again in flames. 

Crowley screamed, sitting bolt upright in bed, flailing, trying to jump up, to run, to help. 

“Crowley!” It was Aziraphale’s voice. Crowley still couldn’t see, the dream was still burned into his eyes, but he could feel hands, Aziraphale’s hands, grabbing onto his own, stilling them, pulling him in. “Crowley, darling, what’s wrong? What’s happened?” 

Crowley couldn’t respond. He just grabbed onto Aziraphale and pulled him close, fighting back the tears and failing miserably. 

Aziraphale hugged Crowley back, his hand moving gently up and down his back, and Crowley just clutched him tighter, trying to convince his racing mind that his angel was here, really here, solidly. He wasn’t burning in Hellfire. He hadn’t been dragged down to Hell. He was alright, he was alright. 

Crowley was crying again, positively blubbering into Aziraphale’s shoulder, his entire body shaking. He wanted to run, hide, find some way to force himself to stop crying, but he couldn’t let go of Aziraphale. He couldn’t. If he did, there was no way to be sure that the dream wouldn’t come true. 

Even still, there wasn’t any way to guarantee that. Crowley had been given orders in dreams, before. In dreams that had felt astonishingly like that one, dreams with the scent of fire and brimstone permeating their entirety. And the way Hastur had been grinning at him… Crowley wasn’t entirely sure he could ever have imagined that. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s voice sounded in Crowley’s ear, soft, gentle, soothing. “Crowley, will you talk to me? Can you tell me what’s wrong? I want to help you, but I can’t if you don’t tell me.” 

“A– angel,” gasped Crowley, lifting his head so his chin rested on Aziraphale’s now-soaked shoulder, not letting go of his vice grip around Aziraphale’s chest. “Angel. I love you. I love you so, so much.” 

“I love you, too, Crowley,” said Aziraphale, patting Crowley’s back gently before pulling himself back, hands moving to lace with Crowley’s. “And that’s why I need you to talk to me. Please.” 

Crowley couldn’t look at him, at his face, at the concern he knew was written all over it, so instead he looked down at their hands, at the tangible connection between them. He was here. Aziraphale was here. He was safe. 

“It was… it was just a dream,” Crowley mumbled, trying his best to wipe his tears with his shoulder. 

Aziraphale tutted softly, pulling his hand out of Crowley’s grip, but Crowley caught it again, holding him fast. He couldn’t let go. Not yet. Not yet. 

“Crowley, if it made you this upset, it wasn’t just a dream,” said Aziraphale. 

Crowley growled, the fear churning in his stomach sending a sudden spike through him. “That’s what I’m worried about, angel.” 

“Won’t you tell me what happened?” 

“It’s stupid.” 

“No,” said Aziraphale, reaching his hand up towards Crowley’s face again, and this time Crowley let him, moving his own hand to rest on Aziraphale’s thigh, leaning ever so slightly into the soft, warm palm cupping his cheek. 

Aziraphale continued. “It’s not stupid, Crowley. If it made you this upset, it’s absolutely not stupid. Please–“ 

“It was about you, angel,” said Crowley. 

Aziraphale froze. “About… me?” 

“The dream,” Crowley said, closing his eyes. He couldn’t look at Aziraphale’s face while he said this. He didn’t want to see how the angel would react. “I dreamed… I dreamed I woke up here, alone, and that… and that the bookshop smelled like smoke again. And you… you were downstairs, but… you weren’t alone.” Crowley felt his throat close up at the memory, at the image seared into his mind. “They were there. Hastur and Dagon and Disposable, and they were holding onto you, they had these… these chains with runes on them, and they’d trapped you. And they’d set the bookshop on fire. Hellfire. And I… I couldn’t…” Crowley’s voice gave out entirely, but he choked the words out anyways. “I couldn’t save you.” 

Lips pressed against his, warm and soft and gentle, a reminder. A promise. Crowley kissed his angel back, free hand working its way up to tangle in Aziraphale’s pale curls. 

Aziraphale pulled back and pressed his forehead to Crowley’s, their breath passing between them. He was still so soft, so gentle, and so wonderfully _there_. 

“It was just a dream,” Aziraphale breathed, echoing Crowley’s words back at him, infinitely gentler and more soothing than Crowley could ever have managed. . “I’m here. I’m safe.” 

“But you’re not!” Crowley yelled, leaping back, off the bed and to his feet, managing to hide the wild flailing in his motion. “You’re not safe. Heaven’s after you, they’re watching us like hawks to try and find an opening to swoop in and kill you.” 

“They’d never use Hell to attack me, love, they don’t–“ 

“How do you know?” snapped Crowley. “How do you _know_? Have they ever, _ever_ before found something that could hurt you and not taken advantage of it? Has Gabriel ever shown you a– a– an _ounce_ of pity? How do you think they got hellfire up in Heaven in the first place?” 

Aziraphale opened his mouth, then closed it again, his brow furrowing. 

Crowley couldn’t stop the words, flying out of his mouth like… well, like hellfire. “And even if Heaven doesn’t want to get involved, Hell could still come after you. They’ve shown me things in dreams before, given me orders, given punishments when they didn’t feel like shelling out for a new corporation. They’re demons, for Sa- Go- _Somebody’s_ sake, their word that they wouldn’t contact me is worth nothing, there’s no guarantee they’ll ever let us be. And if they found out… if they knew… the best way to hurt me is to hurt you… you’d never be safe. They never promised anything with regards to you, angel.” 

Aziraphale was staring, slack-jawed once more, and Crowley could see how quickly his breath was coming. 

He dropped to his knees beside the bed, elbows atop the covers and head in his hands. “I can’t lose you, angel. I _can’t_.” 

There was a moment of silence, of stillness, and Crowley could hear his heart thudding in his ears, could hear the rhythm of his breath as it synced up with Aziraphale’s, both of them practically panting. 

Then hands appeared atop his, soft and warm and steady, pulling Crowley’s arms down to the covers, and one of Aziraphale’s hands tookr Crowley’s chin, lifting his face so that he was staring his gorgeous angel straight in the eyes. 

There were tears there, glittering softly, refusing to spill over, but Aziraphale’s voice was just as steady as his hands. “I won’t let that happen.” 

“I– I don’t– I don’t know if–“ Crowley began. 

“Shh,” breathed Aziraphale, leaning down to kiss Crowley, ever so briefly. “I’ve spent six thousand years protecting us, Crowley, protecting you from Hell. I’m not about to give up now.” 

Crowley groaned. “If you’re planning on going back to your old way of ‘protecting’ me, Aziraphale, you can take that idea and shove it–“ 

“Never,” said Aziraphale, his voice soft. “Now that I have you, I don’t intend to let you go. But there are other things I can do to protect you.” 

“‘S’not me I’m worried about, angel,” Crowley breathed, but he was finding it hard to stay worried. Not with Aziraphale looking at him like that, that steely determination, normally hidden beneath that soft, fussy exterior, showing itself in those gorgeous eyes. 

“I know, dear,” said Aziraphale, his voice soft. “Come here, please.” 

Crowley couldn’t help but obey, clambering back into bed and wrapping himself around Aziraphale, drawing him in close, this time with both of them lying down properly. 

“Go back to sleep,” Aziraphale breathed, kissing the top of Crowley’s head where it was resting on his chest. 

Crowley stiffened. “What if… what if they–“ 

“They won’t, my dear,” said Aziraphale. “I won’t let them.” 

Crowley nodded, taking a deep breath. He believed his angel. He always believed his angel, at least to some degree, and that was what had gotten him in so much trouble over the years, but somehow, this time, there was something… deeper there. Something almost magical. 

“Sleep,” breathed Aziraphale, his voice gentle. 

And Crowley did, and he didn’t dream again, not for the rest of the night. 

###

Aziraphale didn’t sleep that night. He didn’t mind, of course, and it’s not like he had been planning to sleep in the first place, but he couldn’t help but feel tired the next morning. 

Crowley had been right, much as Aziraphale hated to admit it. Something dark had been trying to creep into his dreams. Something particularly nasty, slimy and vile, something that smelled oddly like feces– not in a physical way, in more of a... metaphysical sense. Metaphysical feces. 

It wasn’t the first time Aziraphale had felt it. In the early days, it always seemed to linger around Crowley, that feeling, that stench, and on those days when Crowley had seemed… off, somehow, like when they’d met in Rome– _their first date_, Aziraphale thought, not that it mattered much now– and that slimy feeling had been nigh overwhelming. 

Not that it had really mattered to Aziraphale at the time. Not that it ever mattered. Not when it was Crowley. 

One thing Crowley had said was running through Aziraphale’s mind. _Given me punishments, when they didn’t feel like shelling out for a new corporation._ The angel latched onto that thought, turning it over and over in his mind. What on Earth had Crowley been talking about? 

Of course, Aziraphale knew the answer, even if he hated to admit it to himself. He’d seen what it was like down there, if only briefly. He’d seen how carelessly Hastur had killed– not discorporated, not temporarily inconvenienced, but _permanently, utterly destroyed_– that odd usher, just because he happened to be there when Hastur needed to test the holy water. 

As much as Aziraphale hated to think of it, he was sure that Hell had to have been just as callous with their underling’s corporations. Though angels and demons weren’t exactly bound to the physical bodies they inhabited in the same way as mortals were, it still hurt like nobody’s business whenever they were injured– Aziraphale had been known to curse whomever decided paper could cut. (He didn’t know, of course, that it was Crowley, who was in a particularly bad mood after an argument with Aziraphale, and immediately tried (and failed) to take the whole thing back.) He couldn’t even imagine how painful it must be to die, particularly in whatever horrible ways Hell managed to cook up. The one time he had discorporated, it had been in a very Heavenly manner– entirely painless. He’d left the corporation before it exploded into ash. 

Crowley shifted slightly against Aziraphale, mumbling something unintelligible, and Aziraphale pulled him closer, pressed his lips into that gorgeous red hair, felt lanky limbs tightening around his over-ample middle. 

“I love you, Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed, and Crowley shifted again in response, a tiny smile on his lips, his eyes fluttering slowly open. 

Crowley looked up at him, smiling slightly, the tiniest of furrows between his brows, like he hadn’t quite heard. 

“I love you,” said Aziraphale, lifting his lips away from Crowley’s head, keeping his voice matter-of-fact. 

Crowley growled, burying his head in Aziraphale’s shoulder, a blush creeping up his neck, his words entirely muffled by Aziraphale’s skin. 

“What was that, love?” asked Aziraphale. 

“Love you, too,” mumbled Crowley. 

Aziraphale smiled, feeling the warmth of Crowley’s words settling over his entire body like a particularly cozy blanket. 

“Any more nightmares, darling?” he asked, hoping he knew the answer. 

“Nope,” said Crowley, setting his head back down on top of Aziraphale’s chest, where it had been moments ago. “Slept perfectly. You?” 

“Oh, I didn’t sleep,” said Aziraphale, laughing slightly. “I had to make sure you were alright!” 

The red flush in Crowley’s neck crept up higher. “I don’t deserve you.” 

Aziraphale felt something in his chest squeeze. “Don’t say that, dear.” 

“‘S true,” Crowley said, trying to hide his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder again. 

Aziraphale wouldn’t stand for this nonsense, he decided. He took hold of Crowley’s chin, lifted his face gently, looked him in the eyes. “Please, darling, don’t _ever_ say that. You deserve anything you could ever want. You deserve the _world_, Crowley. You definitely deserve better than a fussy, pudgy old bookseller like me.” 

“Angel–“ Crowley said, his eyes narrowing. 

“No, Crowley, I must finish,” said Aziraphale. “I… I know I haven’t done anything to help your opinion of yourself. I know it, and… and I’m so, so very sorry. I could never stop reminding you of… of the fact that you’d Fallen, that you were a demon. I’m afraid I made you feel like you were… you were less than me. And that is patently absurd, Crowley.” 

“Aziraphale–“ 

“I still haven’t finished, Crowley,” said Aziraphale, fighting back the lump threatening to close his throat. He didn’t want to look away from Crowley’s gorgeous golden eyes, and somehow he knew that if he let Crowley go, the conversation would be over. “I love you, Crowley. I always have, really. You got me out of Heaven. You saved my life more times than I can count. You’ve never really hurt anyone, at least not that I know of.” 

“That’s the bloody thing, angel, you didn’t know about it!” snapped Crowley, yanking himself out of Aziraphale’s grip and sitting up, his back towards the angel. “I never told you about the nasty ones, about some of the temptations Hell made me do. How I–“ 

“Crowley!” said Aziraphale, leaning forwards, placing a gentle hand on his demon’s shoulder, relief flooding through i’m when he didn’t pull away. “Listen to me. The fact that you’re still thinking about this, however many years later, is proof that you didn’t want to do those things. That you didn’t want to hurt anyone. How often do you think anyone else in Hell thinks about their previous temptations?” 

Crowley let out a small, noncommittal noise. That was a good sign. 

Aziraphale pressed on. “Crowley, you are _wonderful_. You saved me from Heaven, and you never could have done that if you weren’t a demon, if you were still in Heaven’s thrall as well. You haven’t just saved my life, you’ve saved hundreds and hundreds of others. In the blessings during the Arrangement, yes, but also on your own. You remember the Ark, and what you did with all those children? That was amazing. That was the moment I really fell in love, I think.” Aziraphale felt ,ore than heard Crowley’s breath catch slightly at the moment of honesty, but it was true. There was no taking it back. “You have helped so many people. You helped _me_. Even if you don’t believe it, you are good. You are beautiful, and clever, and kind, and nice, and good and–“ 

“Aziraphale, stop it!” snapped Crowley, leaping to his feet and whirling to face Aziraphale. “I’m a demon, I’m not nice. I can’t be nice. I’ve tried it, it never–“ 

“Crowley, do you trust me?” Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley frowned, his speech stopping but his mouth still hanging open. “Wot?” 

“Do you trust me?” Aziraphale asked again. 

“‘Course, angel, with anything,” said Crowley, not even a hint of hesitation in his response. “Why?” 

Aziraphale took a deep breath. That trust… He’d known it for so long, but to have it admitted… 

“Then maybe you can trust me on this, dear?” 

Crowley blinked. “What d’you mean?” 

“Maybe, at least until you can believe it for yourself, you’d be willing to trust me on this?” said Aziraphale, feeling the soft shaking in his voice and pushing through it. “Could you trust me, when I tell you that you deserve the best?” 

“Ngk.” Crowley wasn’t swayed yet. 

Aziraphale sighed. “Could you trust me when I say that you deserve me, at the very least?” 

“What’s the difference?” Crowley muttered. 

Aziraphale laughed slightly. “Oh, darling, I’m not the best. I’m the bare minimum. But I will _do_ my best, for you. Anything for you, Crowley. Please, won’t you just trust me?” Aziraphale opened his arms, holding them out. 

His heart swelled with relief when Crowley walked forwards, letting himself be folded up into Aziraphale’s embrace. 

“I love you, dear,” Aziraphale breathed. 

“I love you, too, angel,” said Crowley, his arms snaking around Aziraphale’s middle and pulling their bodies closer together. It was like he was trying to burrow himself into the angel’s body, to become one. 

Aziraphale couldn’t say he minded the attempt. 

They stayed there, silent, for a long moment, just breathing against one another. It was sweet, and gentle, and good, and everything Aziraphale always tried so hard to be, and Crowley tried so hard to deny. 

After what could have been a minute or could have been ten, Crowley started to speak, his voice quiet, almost like he wasn’t entirely aware he was actually talking out loud. 

“Y’know, they always had a way of finding me,” said Crowley. “Hell, I mean. No matter where I was, or what I was doing. They’d talk to me through the Bentley. Through her radio. Or through my TV– there’s a reason I turned it around, angel, you were wondering, that night, I know you were, and I didn’t want to tell you and scare you.” 

Crowley took a deep breath, shaking almost imperceptibly, and Aziraphale shifted his arms to wrap more firmly around him, holding him close, feeling Crowley relaxing against him. 

“And if I was somewhere else, somewhere away from the flat, they’d still find some way to communicate with me. Whatever electronic was closest. Anything that connected to any sort of network– screens at movie theatres, television sets in store windows, on a payphone a couple of times, the ones from the 1980’s, you know. The only… the only thing they couldn’t get through was my phone, the smartphone, and that was only because I don’t think Hastur had the faintest clue what those were, and I know Ligur and Beelzebub gave up trying to explain around eight years before it all went down.” He took another breath, his shaking slightly stronger. “That’s why you… when you said you wanted to try getting a TV. That’s why I said you shouldn’t. That’s why I never let you get a cellphone, either, just… just in case. Just in case they… they tried to contact me here. I couldn’t… I didn’t want to get you involved.” 

“Crowley…” Aziraphale muttered, unsure what else to do. 

“And then you… and then… and then, right before Tadfield. I… I came over here, and all there was was fire, and I couldn’t… I can always feel you, I can tell wherever you are, but then… I just… I couldn’t. I couldn’t feel you at all. It was like… it was like you were just _gone_, angel. And… and the whole place was on fire, and I couldn’t smell the brimstone, but I didn’t know what else could have done this, and…” Crowley’s voice caught in his throat, and Aziraphale gently rubbed his back, kept rubbing it even as he continued, sounding like he was forcing out words that didn’t want to come. “The next day. With the real hellfire. I knew _I_ was safe, but I couldn’t stop thinking… and it was so distracting, having your clothes on, your _body_, they smelled so much like you, I couldn’t concentrate, and it made me think about… if we hadn’t figured it out.” 

“Crowley–“ Aziraphale began again, hoping to comfort this time, to help. 

Crowley pressed on like he hadn’t heard. “And then Gabriel came out, and he and those other two buggers, not Michael, they were here, what were their names, the bastards, the one like they’d dipped their face in a bowl of gold glitter and the one with the weird thingy between their teeth–“ 

“Uriel and Sandalphon,” Aziraphale whispered. Crowley hadn’t ever talked about this before. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear. 

Crowley nodded. “And they just… those two were staring at you. The toothy bloke, Sandalphon, he looked like he was gonna smite you on the spot, and I was so angry, angel, and then Gabriel came out and he…” Crowley was shaking again, properly this time, and Aziraphale felt his jaw clench as he sucked in a breath through gritted teeth. “If I’d have known that’s what they were like to you up there, angel, I would never have waited so long. I’d have marched up there myself and taken the bastards down.” 

“You would never have survived,” said Aziraphale, his chest constricting at the thought. He didn’t say the second part, the part hiding somewhere in the back of his mind, a part he wasn’t sure he was ready to explore yet. _I wouldn’t have gone with you. Not then._

“And then I stepped into that fire, and I thought– I breathed hellfire at them, right at Gabriel’s stupid face, and he got out of the way of it, the slimy bastard, and I don’t… I don’t know how they didn’t see right through it, I was _so angry_ I’d thought I’d give the game away, and I could still smell you on your coat when I started to breathe in the fire and…” Crowley choked back a sob. 

Aziraphale turned his head slightly to kiss his demon on the cheek. He wanted to do more, he wanted to do anything, anything at all to stop his precious demon from feeling this way, but there was nothing to be done, nothing Aziraphale could do except kiss the small snake tattoo on his demon’s cheek and hold him close as tears streamed down his cheeks. 

“I can’t lose you,” Crowley breathed, an echo of so many nights ago, when they both agreed to spend eternity together. Then, it had been for Aziraphale’s sake. Now, it was for Crowley’s. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, angel. I… I…” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Aziraphale breathed. “Hell and Heaven both think I’m immune to hellfire. I won’t be leaving you. I’ll be here, for as long as you’ll have me.” 

At this, Crowley turned his head, kissing Aziraphale fiercely, and Crowley still tasted of tears and sleep and sorrow, but that taste underneath, of coffee and smoke and something Aziraphale still had yet to properly identify, was there, reassuring, warm, comfortable, and Aziraphale leaned into it, using that tiny spot of stability to build up his own confidence, then pouring that confidence as best he could back into Crowley, trying to surround him with love, with care. 

After a long moment, Crowley pulled back, his eyes still downcast, his voice somehow shakier than before. “Dunno why it took me so long to get out.” 

Aziraphale frowned. “Get out?” 

“Of Hell,” said Crowley. “Was miserable down there.” 

Aziraphale nodded emphatically. “Oh, Lord, yes it was. I was only down there for about an hour, and I could hardly stand it. You’re so incredibly brave, having withstood it as long as you did.” 

Crowley winced, almost imperceptibly, at the compliment, then let out a tiny smile, his eyes barely glancing up to meet Aziraphale’s. 

There was a coldness in them, the chill of fear, of resurfaced memories you’d fought hard to bury. Aziraphale knew that feeling, knew it painfully well, although he’d never admit how. 

Crowley was talking. “You said they built me a whole new courthouse?” 

Aziraphale nodded again, more calmly this time, trying to meet Crowley’s eyes even as they dropped back down towards Aziraphale’s chest. 

Crowley snorted. “Lucky me.” Then he sighed. “I’m just glad you didn’t have to see one of the deeper chambers.” 

Aziraphale frowned. “Deeper chambers?” 

“Angel, what’s Hell the best at?” asked Crowley, glancing back up again. 

Aziraphale’s frown deepened, and he could feel his brow furrowing. He knew he looked rather foolish, but he honestly couldn’t help it in the face of such a question. “Um. Evildoing? Temptation? Sin?” 

Crowley snorted. “Nah. I was one of the only decent tempters in the lot, and evil and sin were really best left in the hands of the humans. No, what Hell’s best at is torture. And what I was afraid of–“ His voice broke, suddenly, as though it had finally given in under the pressure of what he was saying. “When you took so much longer to come back. When you were down there for three hours. Angel, I didn’t… I couldn’t… I was so afraid, _so afraid_ that they’d killed you.” 

“Killed me?” asked Aziraphale. “We’d swapped, dear, they couldn’t have–“ 

“Not like that,” said Crowley. “Hell doesn’t care about their underlings, and that’s all I am. In demonic terms, I’m a nobody, angel. About as important as Disposable, or as the usher Hastur killed. I’m nothing. Demons don’t usually kill humans– sort of defeats the purpose– but they really do like to kill each other.” Crowley took a deep breath. “Satan liked me for a while, that’s what I had going for me. Beelzebub thought I was stupid, but they followed old Lucy, and Dagon followed Beelzebub whatever they were doing. But Hastur and Ligur were my direct superiors. And they didn’t like me one bit. And after what I did to Ligur, I thought…” His voice broke again, somehow softer this time. “That’s what they were going to do, in the dream. When I woke up earlier. They took you, and they were gonna torture you like they would always do to me, because I didn’t care anymore what happened to me, it’s hard to care when you discorporate more times than you can count in an hour, but they knew that attacking you…” He took a deep breath again, seemingly trying to steady himself. “Hurting you is the best way to hurt me. Always has been, angel.” 

Aziraphale was stunned. He just sat there, staring at Crowley, his jaw hanging open, his breath coming in little pants, feeling as though a snake about Crowley’s size had wrapped itself around his heart and was squeezing it fit to burst. 

“Crowley…” he breathed, reaching out, cupping his gorgeous demon’s cheek in his palm, fingers brushing up against the little snake tattoo. “My love. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Crowley shrugged. “Didn’t want to bother you.” 

Aziraphale laughed, a hollow, humorless snort. “You didn’t want to _bother_ me? Crowley. My dear. My wonderful, beautiful darling. You could never possibly be a bother to me, not with this or anything else. I want you to talk to me. Please, Crowley.” 

As he spoke, Aziraphale could feel a feeling he didn’t feel very often. Rage, bubbling, boiling hot, rising up from his stomach and seeping through ever part of his body, until his entire form was alight with pure fury. 

Crowley leaned into his angel’s touch, sighing, a tear sliding down his cheeks. 

“I’m so sorry,” said Aziraphale, trying to keep his voice soft, trying to hide the wrath simmering inside of him. 

“‘S not your fault, angel,” said Crowley, opening his eyes, bringing them up to meet Aziraphale’s. “I’m alright.” 

Aziraphale looked into his demon’s eyes, the colour seeping out of the iris into the surrounding whites. They were beautiful. Crowley was beautiful. He was gorgeous and gentle and kind and good. He was the best person Aziraphale had ever met, much as Crowley fought to deny it. And all of that was buried in his eyes, pulled to the forefront by the rush of emotion. Aziraphale could see tears in Crowley’s eyes, see sorrow. Underneath that, there was fear. Fear that Hell would find them again. 

And there was pain. Aziraphale didn’t know which exact horrible revelation was causing that faint tinge of anguish in his demon’s eyes, whether it was the fear of losing Aziraphale or the threats Hell made in Crowley’s dreams or the actual, literal, life-ending torture they’d put Crowley through God only knows how many times… 

Aziraphale felt the hand not cupping Crowley’s face ball into a fist, entirely against his will, and he huffed out a short breath. 

“Angel?” asked Crowley, his eyes searching Aziraphale’s. “You alright?” 

“Tickety-boo, love,” said Aziraphale, forcing a smile. “Just thinking. Where’s the nearest entrance to Hell? I’m afraid I wouldn’t have the faintest idea how to find them.” 

Crowley stared, his jaw dropping now. “Angel… why the Heaven would you ever want to go back there?” 

Aziraphale couldn’t hide the fury burning in his voice as he spoke. “They _hurt_ you, love, Lord only knows how many times, in how many ways–“ His voice caught, but he pressed on, rising to his feet, feeling a burst of air as his wings manifested behind him, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care, even as they knocked over something– a lamp, maybe– on the other side of the room. “I won’t… I _can’t_ let them hurt you again. I’ll fight every demon in the whole of Hell, punish them all for what they’ve done, make them leave you alone–“ 

“Angel, they’ll kill you!” protested Crowley, his hands shooting out to latch onto Aziraphale’s wrist, trapping him. 

“And how many times did they kill you?” snapped Aziraphale. 

“If they discorporate you, you’ll go to Heaven, and if you do, I’m not sure I’ll ever get you back,” breathed Crowley, tears on his cheeks. 

That forced Aziraphale to pause. He looked back down at Crowley, at the plea written across his face. 

“I… I’m sorry, Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed, sitting back down gently, wrapping an arm around his demon’s shoulders, his wings curling in slightly, halfway-shielding the two of them. “How much–“ He paused, taking a deep breath, trying to force his anger back down. “They hurt you, my love. They hurt you so badly. And I…” Aziraphale felt the rage bubbling back up and forced it down again. It wouldn’t do to get too angry. It wouldn’t do to be too much now. “I can’t just let that go. I can’t ignore it.” 

“They just discorporated me,” said Crowley. “That’s not a big deal.” 

“But it is!” protested Aziraphale. “Crowley, they _tortured_ you, there’s absolutely no way that’s not a big deal! I love you, darling, and I can’t let them hurt you, and now that they’re trying to get to you again–“ 

Aziraphale saw the flash of fear in Crowley’s eyes, and realised a second to late what he’d said. 

“They’re… what?” asked Crowley. “How do you know?” 

“I felt it,” Aziraphale confessed. “While you were sleeping. I felt them trying to get to you. But they never will, Crowley. Not so long as I’m here. They’ll never hurt you again. I swear it.” 

“I don’t want them to hurt _you_,” said Crowley, his voice soft, shaking. 

“They won’t,” said Aziraphale. “They can’t. If they get near you again, there’s no force in Heaven or Hell or anywhere in between that could possibly stop me from protecting you.” 

Aziraphale knew it was true. He was a Principality, leader of a platoon in Heaven. He’d fought in the first war, and would have done so in the second, if he’d believed there was anything worth fighting for. 

But there was, wasn’t there? And he was right here, clutching to Aziraphale, his gorgeous, golden, snakey eyes wide, his breath hitching with every other inhale. For Crowley, Aziraphale would fight. He’d do it in an instant, and he knew, with so much love to back him up, he’d win in an instant, too. Nothing would be able to stop him. 

“I love you,” Aziraphale breathed, leaning in to kiss Crowley again, wrapping his wings around him, pulling him in, shielding him, as gentle as he could manage, but he knew the undercurrent of rage was still there. He could feel it, hard as he fought to hold back, feel it in the way his fingers dug into Crowley’s side and the way his hand gripped the back of Crowley’s neck, pulling him in. 

_Mine,_ thought Aziraphale, half to himself, half towards any other supernatural entities that might be listening. _This one is mine. You hurt him. You broke him. I’ll not let you hurt him again. _Never_ again._

Even after Aziraphale pulled back, stopped the kiss, he kept their foreheads pressed together, their bodies, wrapped around each other under the angel’s snow-white wings. He wouldn’t let go. If he could manage it, he’d stay here forever, shielding his demon from any who wished him harm. 

But then, that would be far too much. He’d never want to make Crowley his prisoner. That was the last thing he wanted. 

Slowly, using every ounce of will not already occupied in keeping him from flying down to Hell, Aziraphale pulled his head back just a little farther, tucking his wings away with a soft whoosh. 

“I’m starting to feel rather hungry,” said Aziraphale, forcing cheer into his voice. “Do you think we could go for brunch? I’d rather like to try that new bakery we saw.” 

Crowley blinked a few times, then nodded. “‘Course, angel. Anything you want.” 

This time, Aziraphale’s smile was genuine. “I love you, Crowley. I love you more than anything.” 

“Ngk,” muttered Crowley. “I love you too, angel.” 

Aziraphale leaned in, placed another soft kiss on Crowley’s cheek, before standing, ready to begin the rather arduous process of getting dressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so so much for reading, kudos and comments keep me going and I’d love to know what y’all think!!


	4. Closure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s time to finally, _truly_ break free. And after all, the most important factor in what can stop you is what you believe will happen.

Crowley and Aziraphale had nearly finished their brunch. 

Or, more accurately, Aziraphale had nearly finished his brunch; Crowley had finished the single black coffee he’d ordered a long time ago, and was now just watching Aziraphale eat, his right hand gripping the angel’s left, relishing in every little satisfied noise Aziraphale made as he ate. 

Crowley brought their joined hands up to his lips and gently kissed the angel’s knuckles, sweetly as he could manage. 

Aziraphale looked up, a faint dusting of pink spread across his cheeks, and smiled, that warm, sweet, wonderful smile that Crowley loved so much. 

“I take it you’re feeling a little better?” he asked softly. 

“Nothing like watching you eat to fix my mood,” said Crowley with a smirk. 

The dusting of pink darkened, and Aziraphale looked down at his food, still smiling adorably. 

Crowley opened his mouth to say something else– exactly what, he wasn’t sure– when there was a shift in the air. A shift he knew all too well. The smell of smoke and brimstone started to spread, and he felt a jolt of panic lurch in his chest before he could stop himself. 

“Angel, someone’s here,” he hissed. “Someone from Hell.” 

The smile dropped off of Aziraphale’s face, replaced by a mixture of confusion and fear and… was that anger? It couldn’t be. Crowley was imagining that. 

“Who?” asked Aziraphale. 

“I don’t–“ 

“Crowley.” It was Hastur’s voice, low and growling. “You brought the bait. Good.” 

At the words, Crowley felt another sickening lurch of terror. He forced it down, gripping his angel’s hand tighter, raising an eyebrow at Hastur as he stalked into view, that ugly wig of his doing a terrible job of concealing his demonic self. 

“Hastur! You should leave,” said Crowley, forcing a measure of boredom into his voice. “You should leave, this is a restaurant. You’ll spoil everyone’s meals.” 

Hastur snapped his fingers, and Crowley felt the cold rush of time stopping. The restaurant fell suddenly silent, its patrons frozen. 

Crowley felt Aziraphale shift, moving ever so slightly closer, his grip shifting on Crowley’s hand, lacing their fingers together. 

“What do you want?” asked Crowley, his voice coming out as a half-hiss. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” asked Hastur, a vile grin spreading over his face. “I went to tall that effort to show you.” 

Crowley barely had time to panic before there was another shift, stronger, and then a pair of arms was wrapped around him, yanking him away from his angel, and he couldn’t keep a hold, even as he watched in horror as Dagon and Disposable grabbed onto Aziraphale, yanking him away. 

“No!” Crowley snarled, fighting, struggling, but whoever had a hold on him was stronger than him, and it could’ve been anyone, anyone in Hell was stronger than he was. 

“You showed us exactly how to hurt you,” said Hastur, his disgusting grin widening. “And now–“ 

There was a flash of light, blinding, searing, painful light, and Crowley yelped, his hand flying up to shield his eyes– his hand. He could move. He’d dropped to the ground, dropped onto all fours, and he lifted his head to see Aziraphale, standing there, positively glowing. 

_Literally_ glowing. 

His angel was stood upright, radiating Heavenly light, and he walked over to Crowley, held out his hand, and when Crowley took it, let it pull him to his feet, it didn’t burn. It was warm, somehow even warmer than Aziraphale normally was, but it was a gentle warmth to Crowley, a soft one. 

He heard Dagon let out a strangled cry, and turned to see that the lower demons were now piles of ash, and Dagon and Hastur were both cowering, shaking, under the demonstration of angelic power. 

“You forget who you’re dealing with.” It was his angel’s voice, but there was something else there, a rage, a _power_ that Crowley had never heard before, an undercurrent that struck terror into Crowley’s heart even as it thrilled him. “I am Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate, Principality of Heaven.” There was another whoosh, and something manifested in Aziraphale’s hand– the sword. The flaming sword, the one he’d given away in Eden so long ago, the very reason Crowley had fallen in love. And behind them, Crowley could feel a soft flap of air– wings. Not one set, not Aziraphale’s normal wings, but two– no, four sets, all spread to their full size. 

Aziraphale was still talking, still with that power flowing like a river through his voice. “You will leave Crowley alone. You will not come near him again, not in person or in dreams or in any other way. If you so much as think about harming him ever again, I will be back, and next time I won’t be quite so merciful.” 

“Please,” said Dagon, holding up her hands, cowering on her knees, and Crowley had never seen her like this, not even before Satan himself. 

“Leave,” Aziraphale spat. 

Both demons vanished with twin _pops_, leaving only the stink of sulfur and burning to mark where they had been. 

Crowley felt his knees wobbling. He was about to collapse, right here, in front of his angel, and he felt the shame already building up in his chest– 

Hands appeared around him again, gentle this time, no longer burning with holy light, and Aziraphale led Crowley gently back to his seat and knelt down beside him, hands intertwining with Crowley’s, and they were still glowing faintly, still warmer than they had any right to be, but it still didn’t burn, and Crowley was too shocked to think about how. 

“Angel…” breathed Crowley, staring at Aziraphale. He’d known he was powerful, of course, and he’d always known that there was real strength hiding under that fussy, prim exterior, but he’d never known about… _that_. 

“Are you alright?” asked Aziraphale, eyes searching Crowley’s face first, then his entire body. “I’m terribly sorry, I forgot to hold back, I must have burned you–“ 

“Didn’t burn me, angel,” said Crowley, his voice quiet. “That was amazing.” 

Aziraphale let out a small chuckle. “I do believe Hell forgot that I _am_ still an angel.” 

“I think they might’ve,” said Crowley. Then he blinked. “The sword. How– how did you–“ 

“It is still my sword,” said Aziraphale, shrugging, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. “But it’s been returned now, don’t worry. Safe and sound. I do hope I won’t need it again.” 

Crowley couldn’t seem to get his mouth to form words. “You… that was… that was bloody incredible, angel.” 

Aziraphale’s gaze softened, almost imperceptibly, and he reached up, taking Crowley’s face in his hand. “I would never let them hurt you. Not ever again. And I am so, so terribly sorry that I let them for so long.” 

“‘S’not your fault,” said Crowley, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth, his eyes burning with the effort of fighting back tears. “I never told you.” 

Aziraphale nodded, ever so slightly. 

Then he stood up, releasing Crowley’s face, but keeping his vice grip on Crowley’s hand. “I do think we ought to get home, love.” 

“Right,” said Crowley, snapping his fingers. 

The restaurant burst into motion again, filling with the sound of chattering and forks clinking and the hustle and bustle of human life, and a rather large wad of cash appeared on the table, plenty to cover their meal and provide the waiter with a sizable tip besides– Crowley was feeling generous. 

“Shall we?” said Crowley, standing and offering his arm to his angel. 

Aziraphale took it, relief plain in his face, and they walked out to the Bentley together. 

Just before climbing inside, Aziraphale paused, reaching up to press a kiss to Crowley’s cheek. “I love you, dearest.” 

“I love you, too,” said Crowley, smiling. 

They got into the car, and as Crowley started her up and peeled out of the parking lot, going far faster than he really ought to, he couldn’t stop the wild grin spreading across his face. 

“Angel?” he asked. 

“Hm?” Aziraphale was clinging to the door handle, like always, but his gaze, when it landed on Crowley, was soft and gentle and seemed to swallow him up. 

“Thank you.” It wasn’t quite enough, wasn’t entirely sufficient to explain how Crowley felt, the freedom filling him up as he tore through the streets of London, as he watched his angel in the passenger’s seat, knowing they were safe. Knowing _he_ was safe, was protected from Hell, for maybe the first time ever. 

Aziraphale smiled, reaching out, brushing a hand up against Crowley’s leg. “You’re welcome, love.” 

They drove the rest of the way in a comfortable silence. 

### 

Aziraphale was still nervous as they drove back, and not solely due to Crowley’s reckless driving– that, he’d rather gotten used to, over the course of the decades. . He kept glancing over at Crowley as they drove, half-expecting him to suddenly double over in pain, to start bleeding out, to vanish. He was waiting for... for what, he wasn’t sure. For _something_. 

See, Aziraphale had been careless. He’d been so angry, so unendingly _furious_, that he’d forgotten to hold back on his power. He’d forgotten to shield Crowley from his wrath. 

By all rights, Crowley, as a relatively low-ranking creature of Hell, should have been obliterated alongside the other minor demons Hastur and Dagon had summoned up to try and capture them. That much Divine Power should have discorporated Crowley where he stood, or worse. 

But it hadn’t. Crowley was perfectly fine, _happy_ even, and there was no scent of burning, there was no sign of pain. He hadn’t been harmed by Aziraphale’s power. And that shouldn’t have been possible. 

“Angel?” Crowley’s voice shook him out of his reverie, and he forced his eyes to refocus, looking over at his gorgeous demon. Unharmed. Untouched. 

“Yes, love?” Aziraphale asked, pushing back his uncertainty. 

“We’re here,” said Crowley, raising an eyebrow. “Are you alright?” 

“Perfectly,” said Aziraphale, smiling. “Absolutely tip-top, completely–“ 

“If you say tickety-boo, I’ll… do something,” said Crowley, his other eyebrow rising up as well. “What’s wrong?” 

“I just told you, nothing’s wrong,” said Aziraphale. 

“We’ve been sat outside your shop for two minutes now, and you haven’t moved,” said Crowley. 

Aziraphale started, looking around. He was absolutely right– the Bentley was still, parked in her usual not-quite-a-spot outside the bookshop, and the engine was growing cold. 

“So sorry,” said Aziraphale, forcing a smile and climbing out of the car. “Let’s go, dear.” 

“Aziraphale–“ said Crowley, but he was gone already, walking up to the shop, opening the door and holding it open for his demon. 

With a soft grumble, Crowley followed, heading inside, and Aziraphale carefully locked the door behind them, his mind still racing. There were only two explanations for what had happened, and one of them was quite impossible. But there was no way Crowley would lie to him, was there? 

“Crowley, what exactly was your ranking in Hell?” Aziraphale asked, turning to face his demon. 

Crowley froze. “I thought we were done thinking about Hell.” 

“We are, dear, I just… I…” 

“This is what’s bothering you?” Crowley frowned. “I told you, I’m a nobody.” 

“But you were the Serpent of Eden,” said Aziraphale. “You literally invented temptation. That’s not a job that they give to just anybody–“ 

“The Big Guy was a bit of a fan of me,” said Crowley, grimacing. “But, really, I was nobody. I was bottom of the food chain down there.” 

“But you’re so powerful,” said Aziraphale, grasping at straws. He desperately wanted for his second explanation to be true, and it was seeming more and more likely by the moment, but he couldn’t jump to conclusions. He couldn’t assume anything. “Surely–“ 

“I’m not, really,” said Crowley, shrugging. “I can pause time, for a minute or two, and I can conjure things. That’s about the limit of what I’m capable of.” He frowned. “Why?” 

“It’s just… with what just happened…” 

Crowley’s face fell, sudden and painful. “You– do you– I’m sorry, angel, I should’ve realized, you outrank me, I guess you don’t…” His voice broke. 

Aziraphale sighed. His wonderful, gorgeous demon. He had jumped to the exact wrong conclusion, of course he had. 

“I’ll just…” muttered Crowley, his gaze downcast. 

Aziraphale had to fix this. He closed the distance between them, grabbed Crowley’s face, and pulled him into a kiss, hungry and bruising. Crowley yelped, then relaxed into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale, pulling him close. 

After a moment, Aziraphale pulled back. He had to explain. “It’s got nothing to do with any of that nonsense, Crowley. I love you, and whatever Hell thought of you back then changes none of that. It never could.” 

Crowley frowned again. “Then–“ 

“What I did, back at the restaurant… it should have killed you.” Aziraphale felt his chest squeeze as he admitted it out loud, and his hands slid down slightly, linking together behind Crowley’s neck, holding onto him, but not actually _holding_ him. Just in case. Just in case it was a fluke, just in case he messed up again. “I forgot to hold back, Crowley. I forgot to contain myself, to protect you. Even when I held my hand out to you, I wasn’t controlling my power. I was so angry, I didn’t think, and it should’ve…” He felt a lump form in his throat, catching his words. “I’m sorry, love.” 

Crowley’s frown had deepened. “It… but it didn’t kill me. It didn’t even hurt.” 

Aziraphale nodded. 

“Maybe you did it by accident,” said Crowley. “Just… I dunno, made a space for me somehow.” 

“Even if I had, when you took my hand, that should’ve…” Aziraphale’s voice caught again. “I wasn’t thinking, I shouldn’t have–“ 

“Angel, I’m damn glad you did,” said Crowley, pulling Aziraphale closer, and Aziraphale rested his head against Crowley’s chest, breathing in the scent of him, smoke and brimstone and that aftershave he used and that deeper smell that Aziraphale still couldn’t quite place. Crowley’s smell, something entirely unique to him. “Because it didn’t hurt me, did it? I’m still here. You scared off a Duke and a Lord of Hell, and they had a personal vendetta, it should’ve been impossible to get them away. And you managed it. And you didn’t hurt me at all.” Aziraphale sighed slightly, and he felt Crowley gently nuzzle the top of his head, gentle, reassuring. “I’m alright. You’re alright. And Hell will leave us alone now. Hastur’s really a coward. He won’t try again.” 

Aziraphale nodded, closing his eyes, holding tight to Crowley. 

“I do wonder–“ began Crowley. 

There was a shift in the air, and the faint ozone-smell of divinity, and Aziraphale stiffened, his head jolting up, meeting Crowley’s eyes. 

He’d sensed it too. 

“Where–“ Aziraphale began. 

“Aziraphale!” Gabriel’s voice boomed, and Crowley tensed, disentangling himself from Aziraphale just enough that he could turn and see him. 

He was standing there, that stupid, shit-eating smile on his face, never reaching those ice-cold eyes. 

“You stupid, slimy git,” Crowley snarled, his grip on Aziraphale’s shoulders tightening slightly. He remembered the way Gabriel had looked at him– at _Aziraphale_– up in Heaven, like he was a piece of gum on the bottom of his shoe. Remembered the way he’d talked to Aziraphale the other day, how a simple word had managed to send Aziraphale tumbling down a well of self-doubt, how so many other little words and gestures had to have paved the way for that, and he could feel rage, white-hot and blinding, building up in his stomach. 

He needed to concentrate. He couldn’t do anything to hurt his angel. Especially not now, not after Aziraphale had gone to so much trouble to protect him, not after… whatever had happened with Aziraphale’s divine power. 

A thought occurred to him, a dangerous thought, way too dangerous to test. 

“Now, demon, that’s not very nice,” said Gabriel, affecting a fake pout. “Isn’t that right, guys?” 

A voice sounded from behind the pair, nasally and annoying and laced with dangerous intent. “No, it isn’t.” 

Crowley’s head whipped around to see Sandalphon, standing in between Crowley and Aziraphale and the door. 

“I think we ought to teach them a lesson,” came another voice, to the right, and when Crowley looked he saw Uriel. 

Without looking, he knew that Michael would be to their left. 

“Leave,” hissed Crowley, feeling the power in his voice. Demonic power. The same power he used to tempt humans. Angels weren’t immune, he knew that, he’d used his power more than once against Aziraphale. 

Gabriel’s brow furrowed. “Why would we do that?” 

“Gabriel, please,” said Aziraphale. His voice was soft, pleading. So different from just ten minutes ago. “Just go.” 

“No, I don’t think so,” said Gabriel, and there were four matching footsteps. They were drawing closer. 

“Gabriel, don’t–“ 

“How many times do I have to tell you to shut your stupid mouth, Aziraphale?” snapped Gabriel. 

“Don’t you dare talk to him like that,” snarled Crowley, pulling Aziraphale closer, fighting back the fiery rage threatening to burst out of him, simmering under her skin. “Don’t. You. Dare.” 

“What’re you going to do about that?” asked Gabriel, taking another step closer, mirrored by the other three archangels. Closing in. “You’re a nobody. Hell cast you out. What can you possibly do?” 

“Crowley…” breathed Aziraphale. 

Crowley felt like he was on fire. He clung to Aziraphale, his anchor in the storm, the only thing that mattered to him. 

Gabriel’s eyes widened, and he took a step back. “You– you–“ 

“Leave,” snarled Crowley. “Now. And _maybe_ I’ll let you live.” 

There were four identical whooshes, and the angels vanished. 

And something began to smell like burning. 

“Crowley!” shouted Aziraphale, and Crowley realized, the rug was on fire. The room was lighting on fire. 

He yelped, reaching out, and the fire vanished. 

All the fire vanished. 

Crowley collapsed to the floor, feeling all of his energy, all of his anger, leaving his body in a rush. He was exhausted. 

“Crowley, dear, you… you were on _fire_!” 

Crowley froze. On… On _fire_? 

The thing about demons is that, when they become particularly annoyed, they tend to burst into flame. It had only ever happened to Crowley once before, shortly after he’d finished rescuing as many children as he could from the flood. He’d stood there and screamed at God and burned himself entirely out, just outside of the flood’s range, quite terrifying some of the locals. But since then, he’d always kept it in check, no matter how furious he’d been. 

See, when demons catch on fire, that fire tends to be rather Hellish in nature. 

“Dearest, are you–“ began Aziraphale. 

Then Crowley lunged to his feet, leaping toward him. “Angel! Angel, I’m so sorry, I dunno if I’ll be able to heal it, I–“ 

“Heal what? Dear, I’m quite alright, and I’ve already fixed the slight damage you did to the coat and the rug,” said Aziraphale, holding his arms out before reaching out, like he was going to grab Crowley. 

Crowley stumbled back. He couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk lighting up again, hurting his angel. 

“You– it– Hellfire,” he managed to gasp. 

Aziraphale froze, his eyes widening. “Hellfire?” 

Crowley nodded, tears burning his eyes. 

Aziraphale looked down at his side, the side that had been pressed up against Crowley. He was hurt after all, Crowley realized with a start. He’d been hiding it, he thought he could fix it, but he was hurt, Crowley’d hurt him, Crowley had hurt Aziraphale– 

“I’m alright,” said Aziraphale, looking back up, his eyes meeting Crowley’s. He took a step forwards, grabbed Crowley’s hand before he could pull away, pressed it to his side. “Crowley, I’m not hurt at all. Look!” 

Crowley pressed his hand up against Aziraphale’s side. It all felt… alright. Normal. Just like it always did. 

“Angel…?” he breathed. 

Aziraphale took another step forwards and pulled Crowley into a kiss, short and quick and almost triumphant. 

When he pulled back, he was positively beaming. 

“I… I don’t…” 

“It’s the same way you managed to survive my power earlier,” said Aziraphale, his voice soft. “We… we really _are_ immune.” 

“Whaa…?” 

“What I did earlier, it should have killed you,” said Aziraphale. “But it didn’t. You’re alright. You’re not dead. And me, clinging to a person completely alight with Hellfire, that should have killed me, as well. But it didn’t. It did singe my jacket a little, bit I do think it’s well worth it.” There were tears glittering in the angel’s eyes. Tears of joy. “Crowley, they can’t hurt us anymore. Really. Truly. No illusions. No lies. We’re _safe_.” 

Crowley felt like the ground dropped out from beneath him. He was falling, falling through space and time. 

And he landed with his angel. 

Crowley lunged forwards, closing the distance between them, engulfing his angel in a kiss. They were safe. _Safe_. The word played in his head, over and over again, in time with the pounding of his heart. 

Safe. 

They were safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah.… I’m a big fan of the headcanon that they really are both immune. so… sorry! 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading!!!


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